the creative paradoxpublished: 2012-05-20
The violinist is young. The stage is hers. She throws herself into the music, with intensity and drive. With ambition. She is mature enough to understand that what drives true creation is focus, is concentration, is an internalization of that very thing she is externalizing, is expressing. And so she closes her eyes whenever it’s the symphony orchestra’s turn to do their thing. When she is to wait. She sways to the chords. You’d think she’s in sync with the music.
Yet something isn’t right. The way she moves her violin while swaying, the way her hands play with the nuts and bolds in between sways. How she wipes the strings. Gets rid of a loose hair. Props the violin up against her chin so it pokes out in mid air for a while. Before it’s her cue to start.
She is too aware. She is not there but here. With me. While she needs to be there.
Midway, she has a hard time keeping up the drive and intensity with which she started. It becomes a fight against herself, a struggle. We lose ourselves not in the music but in her expressions.
By the end, she finds herself again. As if finally she has to give in to that one truth that matters: the lower notes. The slow cry of the lower notes. This is where she excels. When the music quietens and she calms down.